V

 

"Brothers!" the sorcerer began his speech, standing amidst the surrounding hooded monks clad in brown habits. "We stand before the gates to Earthland. These are the gates leading to the hated island of Indirland. When we conquer this Land, the road to Indirland, where that whore Kharonaey has hidden, will be open. This island is large, but almost unpopulated. Humans live there, but also lampoons—elves, whom I need not introduce you to." The moment of triumph and Ashtar's return is near, so I tell you, do not be afraid to stake your lives, for we fight for our cause, and victory is near. In the Kharonaey Basilica, in an underground crypt, lie buried two relics sacred to us: the skull and claw of Ashtar. Whoever first sets foot in the crypt will take possession of this realm as a reward.

The monks murmured among themselves. Xenor knew perfectly well what the Eastern followers of Ashtar, whom they had secretly worshiped for centuries under the name of Harvogh, wanted. They hated the Templars of the White Lily with a sincere hatred, for the Order suppressed all manifestations of cults associated with human sacrifice. But the monks, remaining hidden and living in seclusion, managed to survive the years of rule by the Templars, who effectively ruled the Realms. Therefore, their greatest dream was to annihilate the Order and carry out a vendetta on the hated Land from where, according to them, the plague that threatened them originated.

"And now join me," the Necromancer continued, "for I offer you the opportunity to fulfill your dreams. Go, then, and participate in the greatest victory Lhydia has never known. For the glory of Ashtar! For the glory of Ashyria!"

The monks hurried away toward the field where they had left their unusual mounts: Harpies and wyverns. The sorcerer was very pleased with himself. He had acquired two hundred warrior monks, mounted on fearsome sky beasts.

His peace was disturbed only by three places his horde had not yet entered. He still fiercely defended Charlesdam, the largest city in the Realms, and the mysterious, mountain-encircled Realm of Alden, where the mighty, powerful, prehistoric dragon Gwillzeth put up a fierce resistance to Xenor's advancing forces. However, he trusted that once he conquered Earthland, no force would be able to oppose him. And the relics would enable him to open the gates to another dimension, to which Ashtar had been cast centuries ago.

He uttered a spell and slowly but steadily began to rise, high above the snow-capped treetops. He looked beyond them to the west. Earthland appeared before his burning red eyes. In the distance, he saw columns of smoke rising from burning villages. He knew he wouldn't easily or immediately conquer the strongholds surrounding this Land, but he could cut them off from the world and ensure that no one and nothing could reach them. In time, hunger would finish the work of destruction for him. He knew this well. The necromancers of Ashyria were not lacking in patience; they had learned to wait centuries for the right moment to reclaim their domain, which they considered all of Lhydia.

He summoned his mount in his mind, its cry slicing through the air. Yendwill approached like lightning from the north, and with it, as if by magic, came clouds carrying snow and worsening weather. The ice dragon hung in the air. The sorcerer slumped onto its back. He grabbed the reins and headed west.

The weather deteriorated significantly. Snow almost ceased to fall. Visibility was further hampered by a gusty wind. Therefore, detachments of orcs, goblins, and the transformed easily crept up to the walls of the Land's towns, villages, and larger cities. With varying degrees of resistance, the horde captured town after town. Within two weeks, the first ranks of the undead reached the walls of Earthland. From the north and south, ships of the dark fleet, both large and small, sailed in. They anchored on the horizon and awaited the sorcerer's command, ready to sweep everything away at his beck and call.

An alarm was sounded throughout the city and islands, and guards were reinforced. The last ships carrying civilians who had decided to leave the city had sailed west two days ago, either by an unknown or circuitous route to the far south, to Khaz, and on to Rikelkhadd. Those who refused to abandon their homes, along with a large and well-armed crew, remained in the city.

Throughout the night, the screams of prisoners and those captured conquering the Land could be heard. The ring of encirclement closed when the city of Nordville fell, smoke now rising from it. Wherever the horde had set up camp, great pyres burned, burning the defenders. Finally, towards dawn, an impenetrable fog enveloped the area. It flowed from the hills, valleys, and forests, enveloping Earthland, the last place untouched by the horde's footsteps, in a tight veil.

Bhalless, one of Xenor's necromancers, rode his wolf mount to the edge of the fog. Behind him, hordes of transformed and orcs lurked beneath a veil of fog. He glanced at the castle walls. Xenor had ordered him to lead a frontal assault on the main gate, the strongest defended point in the castle. His troops were equipped with long ladders, resistant to fire and hot oil, which the defenders would surely regale the attacking horde with upon attack.

He knew that high above the castle, his master soared on his sky-high steed, awaiting the opportune moment to strike. The dark lord was still awaiting the arrival of the fallen Templar Lazahar, who had occupied successive towns and castles from the south. The unmistakable tension was palpable everywhere; nature was already sensing the attack.

At that moment, his acute telepathic sense picked up the leader's thought: "Strike!" This was a signal to all the lurking units. The necromancer raised his mace-wielding hand, signaling his troops. A heartbeat later, a wild and inhuman scream echoed from all sides. Flaming arrows and catapult projectiles rained down on the city, instantly igniting fires in various parts of the city.